


Pity Not the Dead

by isthisrubble



Category: Captain America (Movies), Casino Royale (2006), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Quantum of Solace (2008), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF everyone, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Fandom Fusion, James Bond is not a superhero but he has his moments, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quantum, Swearing, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, mentions of a past suicide attempt, sort of superheros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisrubble/pseuds/isthisrubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a ghost. They call him the Winter Soldier, he’s Quantum’s most effective weapon, and <i>he just killed M.</i><br/>A CA:TWS/Bond fusion.<br/>(Alternatively: What if MI6 was infiltrated by Quantum in the same way SHIELD was by HYDRA? What if James Bond's past came back with a vengeance, amnesia and a metal arm?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> So, not a spoiler, more of a, um, tip… your reading experience may be enhanced if you have knowledge of Bond movies prior to _Casino Royale_. Or you could consult Google. Um. Yeah.  
>  Thanks to [Charlotte](http://thebetaservice.tumblr.com) for the betaing (you'll probably hate me by the time this is finished, sorry) and [Susan](http://peterpandyke.tumblr.com) for the cheerleading and random email conversations (one day we will make the ultimate Bond fanmix and die of feels).  
> Usual disclaimers: character’s opinions are not mine, I don’t own anything you recognise, please read the warnings, etc, etc  
> Enjoy!  
> 

There aren’t many people jogging at six a.m. on a Monday morning, probably because it was raining when James started out. He’s now soaked, but at least the rain has stopped. He has a clothes dryer, he might as well make use of it every now and then.

He settles in his usual route and is one lap into three when he sees him.

Q is running along the path ahead of him.

Instinctively James slows his pace, stays around ten yards behind Q and hopes that Q doesn’t turn and see him. How do you explain following a co-worker around a park at six thirty in the morning?

Q’s jogging pace is only slightly slower than James’s. By now he knows that Q isn’t your average geek, but he never imagined that Q might actually be _fit_. In jogging gear he’s just as skinny as he looks at work, but without all the extra layers James can see that Q looks strong, his muscles wiry if not bulky.

There’s something almost erotic about Q’s straight back, his confident stride, the realisation that if he turns around James would be able to see his face flushed with exertion.

All right, it’s not _almost,_ it’s _definitely_ erotic.

There’s an incessant beeping and Q swears, veering off the path to lean against a tree. James slows, watches him pull out his phone and start texting, or possibly plotting the destruction of a minor terrorist organisation.

Of course, Q chooses that moment to look up and spot him. He doesn’t look annoyed, so James takes that as a cue to approach, because there’s no point in pretending he was just looking at the tree or some other rubbish.

Q’s hair has fallen into his eyes, and James has an absurd urge to reach out and brush it back. ‘Hello Bond, get caught in the rain, did you?’ Q grins at him.

‘No, I always run soaking wet. It’s the newest fad, don’t you know?’

Q rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t even pretend to be trendy, Bond, it’s nauseating.’

‘Because you know so much about style.’

‘Style and trend are two very different things, 007.’

James grins, because though Q’s tone is dry his eyes are sparkling. ‘Do you run here every day?’

‘I had to move flats after I got promoted, I’m still trying to find a nice spot.’ He looks James over, and James feels an odd twinge of self-consciousness. ‘But I might come here more often, if the company’s good.’ He gives James an unexpectedly soft smile. ‘See you later, 007.’

James watches him disappear down the path and can’t help but shake his head. Q is full of surprises.

* * *

The rest of his morning goes the way every morning has gone since February. He goes to work, continues his argument with Clarke about whether the Royal Marines are worth the tax the country spends on them (Clarke is one of the rare Double Os who didn’t start out in the military, which makes the argument even more absurd, because _what the fuck does he know about it)_ , and spends the morning in the gym training field agents.

They never tell you that most of the work you do as a Double O is behind a desk, just like they never tell you the only thing you get for lasting the longest of all the Double Os is a job teaching agents fresh out of an embassy in the middle of nowhere how not to fuck up their first field assignment.

If someone had asked him five years ago where he’d be now, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been here.

Five years ago he was still young. Five years ago M was a bitch and Alec was alive and James was in the prime of his life.

* * *

Just as James is preparing to go to lunch, the phone in his office rings, and Q asks him to come down to Q Branch’s firing range a test a new _something._

_‘You’ll find out what it is when you get down here,’_ says Q before he hangs up on James’s indignant reply. There’s no point being pissed off, though. He can never resist testing Q’s inventions, especially the things that explode.

This morning notwithstanding, working with Q is already difficult, because every time James sees him he wants to lay him out and have his way with him. He’s always had a thing for competency, and Q being absolutely gorgeous doesn’t help.

He’s sure Q knows, or at least suspects, what he’s thinking. Occasionally there’s a flirting edge to his words, sometimes James swears he wears those ridiculous jumpers just to irritate him.

On the other hand, maybe being stuck in the office is actually driving James mad.

* * *

An hour later, James has proved that Q’s supposedly bomb-proof suitcase is very easy indeed to blow up.

‘Honestly, Bond, is there anything you _can’t_ turn into an explosion?’

He raises an eyebrow at Q’s annoyance. ‘Water? Although, if there’s enough electricity…’

Q pulls off his ear protection and stares. ‘You’re insane.’

‘Says the man who builds bombs for a living.’

‘I do not _build bombs._ ’ Q looks insulted. ‘I design your equipment, _some_ of which happens to be built to blow up. The rest of it you blow up even though that’s not what it’s for.’

‘It’s called improvisation, Q. Isn’t that why you wanted me to test it, so you could make it Double O proof?’

Q rolls his eyes and shakes his head violently. Ash from his hair goes everywhere. ‘I suppose it’s back to the drawing board with this one, then. Can’t use it to safely transport explosives if you can blow it up with a screwdriver.’

* * *

By the afternoon, James’s good mood has almost evaporated. He’s always like this these days, starting off the day feeling fine but sinking slowly as the hours go by. By three o’clock, as he rides the lift up to M’s office, James is seriously questioning why he’s still here, when he could be drowning his sorrows at home or in some bar. The only reason he can see is that Mallory _(M, M, must remember)_ summoned him, and he’s been following orders for so long that, unless someone’s shooting at him, he doesn’t question them.

Moneypenny greets him when he steps into her little office and James drags himself back to the present.

‘Is it still a good time, or has someone done something unforgivable since you called?’

Moneypenny smiles the smile that always reminds James of sharp knives. ‘No, he’s waiting.’

M greets him perfunctorily and motions for him to sit down while he flips through a stack of papers. When the file closes James is surprised to see TOP SECRET stamped across the top. He’s still on his two weeks break after his most recent mission in New York, and all Moneypenny had said when he’d picked up the phone was ‘He wants a word, if you’ve got a spare half an hour.’

Now, M says, ‘007, take a look at this,’ and slides the folder across the desk.

James skims the first few pages, realises what he’s reading, and goes back to read them properly. By the time he’s finished wading through the double-speak that’s typical of reports like this, there’s a familiar prickling on the back of his neck that always means danger.

‘What do you make of it, 007?’

‘Well, sir,’ James ventures, ‘it _reads_ like a report on a mole –’

‘But?’ M prompts.

‘But… all this – this “identity unknown” stuff is bullshit, sir.’

He’s obviously hit the nail on the head. M’s brow creases. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Whatever Q’s been telling you about how antiquated MI6 is, that’s rubbish. We had a purge in 2006 and we’ve been keeping our ears to the ground ever since. If there’s a mole we’d at least know a name.’ He taps the folder. ‘Either the person who wrote this report is incompetent, or they’ve got something to hide.’

M leant back in his chair. ‘That’s what I thought.’

The last time they missed an infiltrator, M died. James isn’t willing to let that happen again. ‘So what are you going to do, sir?’

M steeples his fingers. ‘We can’t rely on anything in this report, which means, unfortunately, that there’s a whole office we can’t trust.’

‘But you’re telling me.’

M gives him an unimpressed look. ‘We may have had our differences, 007, but of all the people who work for MI6, I think we can safely say you’re the least likely to be a traitor. But this doesn’t leave this room, you understand?’ James nods. ‘I’ll be making my own investigations, but I’d like you to keep you ears to the ground, as you say, and report to me immediately if you hear anything of interest. Whoever this is, we want to weed them out as quickly as possible.’

They both frown at the report for a moment. James looks up before M, and notes the furrowed brow. If this investigation unearths something of the scale of the Quantum infiltration they dealt with in 2006, it’s going to uproot everything this M has been working on since he took the job.

James realises he’s been staring a second after M looks up, but refuses to do anything but look straight back at that calculating gaze. He and M work well together, and he doesn’t doubt his dedication to the job, but it’s not the same as working with someone who’s watched as you were forged by the fire of experience.

Finally M nods and James takes this as his queue to stand up. M rises too, and says, ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how vital this is.’

‘No sir.’

‘Good. Send Moneypenny in when you leave, could you?’

* * *

M’s problem sits at the back of James’s mind for the rest of the afternoon. James has seen a lot of investigations like this in his time, has helped Bill Tanner with a handful of them. They always end in tears, and the strangeness of this situation doesn’t bode any different.

He can’t help assuming it’s Quantum. It almost always is, and every time it means another target for him, another kill on his list. It’s been a while since the last one, and his pulse quickens, despite his bad mood. Maybe he’ll get out of London sooner rather than later.

By the end of the day James has almost forgotten about M’s problem. The darkness in his head is clawing for a grip on his soul again.

* * *

James stares at the Thames without really seeing it. He hates nighttime. It used to be his favourite time of the day, but since his most recent resurrection the bars and clubs he used to frequent have lost their appeal. Drinking, too, feels like a bit of a waste. There’s a very good chance that James will survive to retire, now, and as much as he hates the idea he’s started making small adjustments to his behaviour, just in case. He doesn’t want to survive ten years as a Double O agent only to be felled by liver disease.

He knows he’s a cold-blooded killer, but he wasn’t born, he was made. What the hell is he, without the work? A walking time bomb of regret, anger and loneliness.

James fishes his packet of cigarettes and Alec’s lighter from his pocket. He only smokes one cigarette a day, but he can still imagine his mother tutting at him like she did his father.

All right, maybe his bad habits _are_ going to kill him if his job doesn’t.

He’s halfway through the cigarette when he hears footsteps behind him. ‘Those things will kill you one day.’

He closes his eyes instinctively. Q is close, their elbows are almost touching. ‘Q, if I last long enough to get lung cancer I will be very surprised.’ It won’t do to have MI6 thinking he’s gone soft.

‘You’ve made it this far,’ says Q quietly. He almost sounds disappointed. James opens his eyes.

Q is leaning his elbows on the railing, shoulders slumped and hair in his eyes again. The lamplight is making him look slightly ethereal.

‘Retirement wouldn’t suit me.’

Q frowns. ‘I suppose not. Not enough murder.’

‘Not enough action. I could do without the murder.’

Q turns to stare at him. ‘Really?’

James stares at the remains of his cigarette. ‘Killing is necessary. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. Do _you_ like knowing that you can kill thousands of people with the touch of a button?’

‘No.’ Q bites his lip. James swallows. His cigarette has gone out. He wants to know what Q tastes like. He wants to wipe that sad look off Q’s face. He wants to explore every inch of him until all of Q is imprinted in his brain.

He kisses Q before his better judgment can kick in.

For a moment he’s sure Q will kiss back, but he only hesitates for a second before pulling away. ‘James. Stop.’ Q isn’t making eye contact. His eyes are full of an emotion James can’t read. Something like fear. ‘I’m not going to be your distraction.’

James catches his elbow, tries without success to turn Q to face him. ‘I don’t think you’re a distraction.’

Q shakes his head. ‘I know, but that doesn’t mean you won’t, eventually.’ James opens his mouth but has no idea what to say. Q’s words sting. ‘Figure out what’s going on in your head first, James.’

And then he walks away.

* * *

_Figure out what’s going on in your head._

What the hell does that even mean? What does Q know about how James’s head works?

The anger lasts him until he gets halfway home. He stops at a red light and suddenly realises what Q meant. People have been looking at him sideways ever since M died, as if he’s about to have a breakdown, or take a leaf out of Silva’s book and start shooting.

To be fair, last time someone he cared about was killed he _did_ disappear for two months.

_Regret is not part of our profession,_ M had said, and she’s right. He’s been learning to control his own head for years. If Q thinks he doesn’t know what he’s doing, that’s not James’s problem.

And yet.

* * *

He drives around for over an hour on autopilot, his mind a pitch battle between Q and the blackness. In the end, he’s not sure which is winning, but he needs a drink.

As soon as he closes the front door James knows something is wrong. His blinds have all been closed, but one of them is flapping in the breeze. There’s a window open somewhere.

He hasn’t got a gun. There’s one in the bedroom, in the safe, but he can’t get it without crossing the living room. The breeze is making it impossible to hear breathing, if there _is_ someone else in the room. He crouches, slides his knife out of his ankle sheath, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom.

There’s someone lying on the floor behind the sofa.

James can’t see anyone else, is expecting a gun to the head at any moment. Slowly, silently, he stands and turns on the light.

M is lying on his living room floor in a pool of blood.

He scrambles forward, pulling off his jacket. M’s head lolls to the side when James puts pressure on the wound. He’s breathing, but only just.

James thinks of _her,_ of bloody hands and fire, dead bodies in the wilderness.

His hand is steady as a rock as he calls 999.

_‘Emergency, what service?’_

‘Ambulance. Shooting victim, adult male.’ He rattles off his address, stays on the line until the ambulance comes. M is semiconscious and trying to speak, there’s blood trickling from his mouth and James wants to scream.

As soon as the paramedics take over he rings the only other person he can think of, who answers with a crisp _‘Moneypenny’_ even though she must be home by now.

‘M’s been shot.’

_‘What?’_

‘He was bleeding out on my floor, the paramedics are here –’

_‘Wait, are you at home? I’m coming over.’_

‘Sir?’ It’s the police. Of course.

‘Moneypenny, bring your ID.’

* * *

 Fifteen minutes later the police have reluctantly handed over the crime scene to an MI6 forensics team, and James and Moneypenny are staring at the neat bullet hole in James’s window.

‘He knew someone was after him. He closed all the blinds. How on earth –’

‘Cameras.’ James turns, sidestepping the blood he still can’t look at, points them out to her. ‘I used to pull them out all the time, but they always put more in so I gave up. The shooter must have had back door access. I’ve seen it done before.’

‘Not by you?’

‘No. But it can be done.’

Moneypenny’s mobile rings. She answers it, and then, loudly, says _‘shit.’_ The whole room turns to look at her. She looks like she’s about to throw up. ‘We have to go to the hospital.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve done my best to research things (like first aid and mental health) before publishing, but please point out any mistakes I’ve made, because I’m sure there are some.  
> Comments are always extremely welcome and will gain you virtual cookies. Or something.


	2. Day Two (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the chapter count is now five – I split day two in half because it was getting _way_ too long. ~~over 9000 words *slides slowly into the depths of hell*~~

James hates hospitals. They’re either full of dying people or doctors who want to poke and prod you and nurses who are far too intrusive.

The A&E at Guys and St Thomas is full of MI6 security and doctors looking scared as they hurry about. There’s also Tanner, white as a sheet. The eyebrow tic he always gets when he’s under extreme pressure is throbbing away.

‘James,’ he says, making an aborted move to shake hands. James realises he hasn’t washed off the blood and suppresses a shudder. ‘Moneypenny. He’s this way.’

M is in emergency surgery, so they’re stuck outside, waiting like the punch line of some cruel joke. Moneypenny, with remarkable cool-headedness, sits down and starts working on her tablet. She’s joined by Tanner’s secretary Melaina, who’s struggling to keep her boss’s attention: Tanner won’t stop pacing, and eventually she has to get up and grab his arm to get him to listen to her. James claims a patch of wall and leans against it, hands shoved into his pockets. The suit is a lost cause anyway, and he can’t hide their trembling. This is too much, after everything that happened last winter. He’s only just got used to taking orders from Mallory. _You’re getting complacent, James._

He forcefully shifts his mind away from what’s happening in the room next door. He’s done all he can on that front, and it’s out of his hands. Instead he tries to understand what’s happened and what the fuck it _means._

M discovers an mole and trusts James with this information, but no one else. Then M is shot. The chances of that being a coincidence is less than zero.

What he can’t work out is why M went to _his_ flat. Surely M’s own would have been better protected. James knows for a fact that the Ms are given around the clock security: he’s gotten through it a few times.

That makes him pause. If he can do it, so can someone else with similar skills. There aren’t many like him left alive, because he’s very good at killing them, but he knows that they exist, and that some of them are distinctly _not_ on MI6’s side.

Eventually Moneypenny shows him the security footage from his flat on her tablet. M broke in half an hour before James arrived, pulled down all the blinds and stood there in the dark until a few minutes before James came in. That was when he was shot.

‘We haven’t been able to find the sniper on any cameras, but they’re still looking.’

‘How did he get the camera feed?’

Moneypenny frowns. ‘That’s the thing: Q’s not sure he did. There’s no evidence to support it.’

James wants to slap someone. ‘Have you got another theory you’d like to share?’

‘No.’

They both fall silent as a flurry of activity can be heard from the operating room. James can’t distinguish any words until someone says ‘clear’ and there’s a short silence before the noise starts up again. Moneypenny’s grip on the tablet has turned her knuckles white.

The same sequence of sound repeats once, twice, three times. James realises he’s clenching his jaw, and fights to stay calm.

Then the flurry of movement stops.

None of them move. It feels like an age before anyone comes out of the room. When they do, James knows without hearing a word what has happened. He turns away as the doctor clears his throat to speak.

M is dead.

James feels numb. It’s nothing like the last time, where he’d wanted to scream, to wreak destruction on everything around him. Now all he feels is hollow.

* * *

The drive back to HQ takes place in complete silence. James goes back over what he knows obsessively. He needs to work out what happened so that he can do what he’s best at: killing.

If M was in his flat, his own was compromised. James already knows that everyone in MI6 is a candidate for the traitor. Potentially, whoever killed M also knows that James has read the report.

There’s no one he can trust but himself.

* * *

MI6 goes into lockdown. James supposes this is what it was like straight after the explosion, before he got back from Turkey. No one is panicking, exactly, but James can taste the fear in the air. He paces backwards and forwards in Moneypenny’s cupboard of an office while she works. Tanner has already taken over M’s office and there’s a constant flow of people in and out.

There’s nothing for James to do: all the field agents are grounded until further notice, until they’ve got a better grasp on what’s actually happened. James has snuck in and out of MI6 before, but never when it’s been in lockdown.

He can’t decide whether it would be safer to leave or stay. Leaving will mean showing his hand, but staying will put him in more immediate danger. Either way, he needs to find out who he’s fighting. Quantum? Terrorists? Some new enemy?

Eventually Moneypenny kicks him out, claiming he’s too distracting. It’s four AM. The only place he can think to go is Q Branch.

He can’t imagine Q a traitor. Perhaps he’s biased, perhaps not, but he can’t be the only one on M’s side. Maybe Q can help him.

* * *

When he arrives Q Branch is in chaos. People are running everywhere, yelling to each other. Temporary projections screens have been set up all over the place, and in the midst of it all…

_No Q._

James stops, rescans the area slowly. Almost all of Q Branch is in the room, but he’s always been able to spot Q in a crowd –

‘All right people, listen up,’ yells R, standing on a desk. Silence falls almost immediately. She starts giving instructions, carving order out of the chaos, as if this were her branch, her people. And standing beside the desk? Melaina Contos, Tanner’s secretary.

Why the hell is that setting off all his alarm bells? Q Branch is the most important branch of MI6, of course Tanner is going to want to make sure he knows what’s going on here. It must be Q’s absence that’s setting his teeth on edge.

There’s probably a rational explanation. Maybe someone took a pot shot at him, too, so he’s in hiding. But surely he’d be safest in HQ?

James ducks back out of Q Branch before he’s seen. He heads back upstairs, to the sprawling set of rooms that house the field agents. He locks himself in one of the secure offices and uses Moneypenny’s login to access the network.

It takes some work to wade through the encryption around the file and get down to the report’s metadata. Then he stares, because, of all people, he didn’t expect this.

The team investigating the mole was headed by William Tanner.

James’s mind whirls. There’s no way Tanner would have sent the report on to M without checking everything. Tanner would have picked up the incorrect wording. Tanner would have made sure they had a name to work with.

Tanner knows who the mole is. He’s _protecting_ them.

Oh, _shit._

He kicks back the chair, but stops himself from leaving the room. He can’t just go crashing through MI6 like a maniac.

His phone beeps before he can decide anything.

_SENDER: TANNER, W_

_James, I need a word. Now, please._

Every instinct he has is screaming at him not to go, to get the hell out of there before he gets shot. Again, though, that would be showing his hand. James weighs possibilities, advantages, dangers. Talking to Tanner means more data, a chance to prove himself trustworthy. Talking to Tanner might also mean a bullet in the brain. Not talking to Tanner, on the other hand, means a kill order will go out on his head.

Talking to Tanner it is.

* * *

Tanner looks like he wants to tear his hair out; it's only the little things that give him away: the creases in his shirt, the twitch in his eyebrow. He’s also drinking scotch, though, which is a good an indication as any.

‘James. Sit down.’ James sits. His mask is firmly in place, but Tanner wouldn’t expect any less – as far as he knows, James Bond is emotionally compromised and doesn’t want to show it, in case he gets suspended.

‘Do you have a name for me?’ he asks, and Tanner’s eyebrows contract.

‘We haven’t had any luck on that front, I’m afraid.’ He leans forwards on his elbows. ‘James, you know I’m on your side, but I’ve got people coming at me from every side wanting to know why I haven’t taken you into custody.’

James thinks an oblivious him would be outraged. ‘What, they think _I_ killed M? _Me?’_

Tanner grimaces. ‘James, he was in your flat. You can see what it looks like to them. I’m sorry, but until we can work out exactly what happened, you’re our only suspect. I have to suspend you from duty, or I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.’

James leans back in his chair and watches Tanner for a moment. If there’s one thing the Bill Tanner he’s known all these years isn’t, it’s unduly apologetic. If Tanner’s motives were innocent, he wouldn’t be making excuses. If James were in his position, he’d have to suspend him, too.

He can’t tell if Tanner knows what James knows. He could be probing, wondering, or he could be biding his time. Cold, sharp fury fills James’s head. He doesn’t know yet who Tanner is working for, or what he wants, but when he does, he’ll burn the whole place down if it will stop them.

He keeps his voice level when he says ‘I suppose the lockdown still applies.’

‘Yes. But you can’t get involved unless I say so, James, I mean it. Or I’ll have to take serious action. Let us investigate, and –’

Tanner is interrupted by the black phone on the desk. He waves James out as he answers it, so James leaves before he changes his mind.

Moneypenny is also on the phone when he passes her, but she doesn’t seem to be having any luck: just before he shuts the door he hears her mutter ‘pick _up,_ dammit.’

James’s mind is clear. He has to get out of MI6 before he’s found out. If he _is_ the only one who knows there’s something wrong, it’s his responsibility to do something about it. He knows, deep in his bones even if he doesn’t have concrete evidence yet, that whoever is behind this whole thing is going to be using MI6 for their own benefit. He can’t let that happen.

In the back of his mind is also _find Q_. In the back of his mind he’s extremely perturbed by the Quartermaster’s absence. But these worries have to stay in the back of his mind, because as much as he’d like him to be, Q isn’t James’s priority. He has a mission to complete.

Getting out, in the end, is ridiculously easy. They’re supposed to be in lockdown, for fuck’s sake, and yet all it takes for the armed guards to let him out one of the back entrances is to flash his ID and mention Tanner – his name literally opens doors, although that’s not exactly new. But there’s something about the look in the second guard’s eyes when James says he’s under Tanner’s orders that James knows means trouble. Means that there’s an implication in what he’s said that they’ve understood, and he’s missed. He doesn’t like missing things.

His first priority is to find whoever killed M. He can follow the trail from there, up or down.

* * *

Walking in London with all this hanging over his head is odd. His paranoia has kicked in with a vengeance, and he has to curb the instinct to keep checking over his shoulder. Innocent people don’t do that. Innocent people also don’t take their phones apart and drop the SIM card, battery and shell in three different rubbish bins, but it’s a precaution he has to take. He knows enough about tracing people to know keeping phones your pursuers know about on you is a bad, bad idea.

He passes a café just as it’s TV shows the beginning of the seven o’clock news bulletin. Curiosity gets the better of him: will the shooting be reported? Is the crisis he’s imagining contained, or has it already spilled out into the rest of the world?

He slips inside to watch, and gets an unpleasant surprise. His own face is staring back at him. His disappearance has definitely been noticed.

_‘A prisoner has escaped from Belmarsh Prison overnight and is believed to be at large in London. Londoners are warned that James Bond is armed and extremely dangerous. He is described as caucasian, five foot ten and 44 years old, with short blond hair and blue eyes. Bond is not to be approached under any circumstances, and anyone with information is urged to call 999 immediately.’_

Well, shit.

The bulletin moves on to politics and James unfreezes. His face is out there, the very people he’s sworn to protect are being used to catch him. He needs to keep moving.

The customer who was picking up his takeaway coffee turns and almost collides with James as he makes for the door. He opens his mouth to apologise, and James can pinpoint the exact moment he’s recognised. He turns and runs before the other man can make a sound.

* * *

Q isn’t answering his fucking phone – no, scratch that, he’s turned the damn thing off. She’s known him for, what, six years? and that has never happened, not even at night.

Eve allows herself one minute of quiet panic, no more. M’s not even cold in his grave (although they’ll probably cremate him, for security) and already Tanner’s taken everything over. It’s all according to protocol, of course it is, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling _wrong_. Like something’s crawling under her skin. She recognises the feeling from her days in the field. Then, they always told you to trust your gut.

Eve’s gut is saying Bill is acting weird as hell. Eve’s gut is saying he shouldn’t be talking to the people he’s talking to, he should be talking to their bosses. Is he going to get rid of all the executives, replace them with their underlings? Is he going to do it _now?_

What the hell is going on?

Right. Panic time over. Just in time, too, because Tanner wants to talk to her.

She doesn’t even get a chance to sit down before the questioning starts.

‘Did Bond speak to you just now, when he left?’ Tanner isn’t even looking at her, running his finger around the edge of his glass.

‘No.’ She takes a seat. ‘He looked like he was in a hurry.’

‘Did you give him your login details?’

‘What, Bond? No, I – why would I do that?’

Now he looks at her. ‘InterSec says he tried to access M’s documents with your login five minutes before he can to see me.’

‘Didn’t he always used to do that, though? I thought…’ she trails off awkwardly. The old, old M – Mansfield – had warned Eve about Bond’s frustrating _any means necessary_ attitude before she’d been sent to Macau.  It feels wrong, somehow, to mention her now.

‘Yes.’ Bill signs, and Eve almost feels sorry for him. Almost. ‘But this is different. He… it’s not important what he looked at. I’ve just heard he tricked security into letting him out the north gate. I need you to put a shoot on sight order out on him.’

Okay, this is definitely some first class bullshit. ‘Is this because of Mallory? Tanner, there’s no way –’

The look Tanner gives her is so scalding she almost recoils. ‘He’s going to cause trouble. He’s got this ridiculous idea in his head, that he has to go on some sort of crusade against the shooter. I need him out of the way.’

She must look more frightened that she means to, because Tanner’s expression softens. ‘I need you on side, Moneypenny. Keep doing what you’re doing, it’s important work.’ It’s really not. It’s sorting out M’s estate, which is a complete waste of time when they have a massive security issue on their hands.

‘Yes sir,’ she says instead of letting him have a piece of her mind. She has no intention of being helpful, not now. She has to work out what the hell is happening.

Tanner waves her out, so she goes back to her desk. She keeps working on what she was working on because it _is_ mindless work, so she can think of other things. Like how she’s going to get out of MI6, and whether she’ll look for Q or Bond first. Ringing Q’s office phone doesn’t get her in contact with anyone, and Q’s mobile is still off. That settles it for her: he’s not in HQ.

Eve is distracted from the problem of Q by the appearance of a stranger through the door. He’s wearing a visitor’s tag and, for some reason, reminds her of the laboratories she frequented in high school. He ignores her completely and goes straight into M’s office. She wants to stop him, but that’s not her job – she’s not Tanner’s secretary.

Two weeks after he became M, Mallory had got Q Branch to install a hidden microphone under his desk. It was only used when he had important meetings she wasn’t allowed into. If M had his way, she’d always be there, but sometimes he met with idiots who thought Eve was just a secretary. ‘For when I need a second opinion,’ he’d said when the installation was finished. She can listen to anything happening in the office without anyone noticing.

She owes it to Mallory to find out what Tanner’s planning.

Tanner is asking _‘– certain it won’t affect performance?’_

_‘White is sure the Winter Soldier programing is solid. I, personally, agree with him.’_

Tanners sounds resigned. _‘Then I don’t know why you’re asking me. Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.’_

_‘We need you to confirm Bond as the target. White wants to know if you’re sure he can’t be an asset.’_

_‘I’m sure. Fine, send him out.’_

Eve switches off the microphone as the stranger leaves as quickly as he came. She’s in shock.

Quantum.

Quantum and _Tanner._

Oh _shit._

She has to warn Bond.

* * *

He’s being followed.

James isn’t sure when it started, but he can see one – no, two – people following him, one behind, one on the other side of the street. He hasn’t been able to get a good look at their faces yet, but he’ll bet all his money they’re MI6, and not the friendly type.

Or perhaps… the crowd on the other side of the road parts just in time for him to see the face of one of his pursuers – it’s Donahue, 003.

Without looking behind him, he has to assume the other tail is also a double O. This can go two ways: either they’re trying to work out what the fuck is going on and followed him because he got out, so he must know something; or Tanner send them to kill him.

They’re closing on him. He has to get them to show their hands, and he can’t do it on the street, where there are so many civilians. He turns down the next alley. Time to take the initiative.

* * *

Eve ends up getting out the same way Bond must have: flashing her badge, name-dropping, relying on the confusion. No matter how good your security system is, there’s always a chance of human error. She’s got her training gear with her – tracksuit bottoms, a t-shirt and trainers. She also has her pistol under her arm and her small stiletto blade up her sleeve. Apart from that, though, she’s got nothing. No real idea what’s going on, except that Tanner is in control of MI6, and through him, Quantum. No allies, because she can’t contact Q and it would be just her luck if she does find Bond, only to get shot when she gets close.

Suddenly she realises something that actually makes her stop in the middle of the street and swear loudly, much to the displeasure of a young mother who glares at her as she hurries past with her tiny son. Eve is too busy thinking to care.

There’s a tracking device inside her left elbow.

There’s a public toilet up ahead, and Eve locks herself in and tears off her jacket, wrenching up the sleeve of her shirt. It only takes her a moment to find the tiny device, hidden in the crook of her elbow.

She’s scared of cutting it out. What if she hits a major artery? What if she cuts through something and does permanent damage to her arm?

What if Quantum catches her and kills her?

It’s not like she has much choice, is it.

Once she’s cut it out she wraps her arm in a handkerchief (and Q always said it was a stupid thing to carry around) and sets about trying to destroy the device. In the end, she has to stomp on it and flush the pieces down the loo.

Once that’s done she changes into her training gear, because as much as she loves them, Jimmy Choos are no good for running in. She dumps her office clothes into a plastic bag and puts her weapons back in their holsters. With her jacket on, her makeshift bandage is invisible.

A tracker isn’t the only way MI6 could be following her. She stares at her phone. On one hand, she can use it to track Bond, who doesn’t seem to have cut out his own tracker. On the other hand, MI6 can use it to track _her._

In the end, she decides to keep the phone. She needs to find Bond and warn him about Quantum, and about this Winter Soldier, whoever he is. And if Bond is going on the run, maybe she can help him. Eve certainly doesn’t intend on sitting back and letting Quantum overrun MI6.

* * *

He’s being shot at. By his own people. In London.

Fuck.

Donahue and Liu abandoned all pretences as soon as they were all in the alley, and now they’re chasing him through the maze that is Soho, and he hasn’t got a gun to shoot back.

Someone’s going to call the police eventually, because even suppressed guns make a lot of noise in a confined space.

He manages to give them the slip just for moment, enough time to get up a fire escape and onto a roof. Donahue is hot on his heels, wearing running shoes and seven years younger than James. James crouches behind the lip of the flat roof and waits.

Donahue hits the roof at a run and James goes for his knees. He needs to get his hands on the gun.

The next few seconds are extremely confusing. They’re both holding the gun, there are elbows and knees going everywhere, and then James gets his fingers in Donahue’s eye socket and scratches as hard as he can.

Donahue yelps and lets go of the gun, so James shoots him. He goes down with barely a gurgle. James curses himself. He would have been more useful alive.

He heads across the roof, not sure where Liu is. She’s uncanny at disappearing into the smallest spaces, so every dark corner is dangerous. He jumps two alleys before he dares go back down to street level. There’s no sign of her, but he keeps the gun in his hand. He has no idea where he is, but he can’t risk going out on the streets proper until he knows there isn’t going to be a firefight.

A shadow detaches itself from the wall and he gets a glimpse of a blonde bob before she’s on him.

The first blow winds him, the second slams him against the wall. James catches Liu’s arm as she brings the gun around to his temple. She’s got more leverage, but he’s stronger. For a moment he thinks he’s got the gun, then her knee rams into his groin. His knees go out from under him, but he’s still got a hold of her wrist, and he twists as hard as he can. There’s a satisfying crack and Liu screams.

James scrambles for the gun, only to be kicked, again and again. He doesn’t drop it, he can’t afford to. He grabs her leg and shoves. She lands on top of him, and then there are elbows and knees everywhere – and then he remembers ( _you fucking idiot, James_ ) his knife.

He shoves it into her guts and twists. Liu doesn’t scream again, but she stops struggling and he rolls her off him. He can see straight away that he’s killed her, but she’s not dead yet.

He shoves her up against the wall and she spits in his face. He doesn’t let go of her to wipe it away. Liu’s blood is soaking his sleeve.

‘What did Tanner tell you?’ She snarls at him, so he twists the knife deeper. ‘Answer me, fucking dammit!’

‘You killed M, you fucking –’ her knee comes up hard into James’s stomach and he falls back. She drops, scrabbling for her gun, and –

Bam. Liu falls, a neat hole in the back of her head.

James looks up, and sees – _what the actual fuck_ – Moneypenny, lowering her gun, looking around. ‘Someone will have heard. Come on.’ She takes off into the maze, and James takes off after her. She’s not trying to kill him, so maybe she can help him.

Moneypenny slows down a few minutes later, finally turning to face him. He can’t take any chances. She could have come straight from Tanner.

‘Who sent you? How did you find me?’

She’s not fazed by his gun in her face. Somehow he’s not surprised. ‘I sent me, someone had to stop you getting yourself killed.’ She steps as close to him as she can without jabbing herself in the eye with the pistol. ‘Tanner sent them to kill you. He’s Quantum, they’ve taken over the whole fucking place.’

So it is Quantum. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Do I look like I want Quantum to take over MI6? You of all people know how dangerous they are.’

‘Do you have any idea how many traps I’ve seen in my life, Miss Moneypenny?’

She actually rolls her eyes. ‘Here.’ She rolls up her sleeve. There’s a bloody hanky tied around her elbow. ‘Tracker. You’ve got one too, here.’

She catches his arm, presses gently against the inside of the joint. When she finds it he can feel the tracker digging into his muscle. How long has it been there? How has he never noticed it before?

‘You can’t leave it there,’ she says, ‘it’s how I found you, and I’m not the only one looking,’ and she’s offering him her knife. He lowers his gun slowly, staring. Talk about trusting his gut. It’s telling him she’s the closest thing he’s got to an ally, that she’s genuine. What choice does he have, anyway? He needs allies.

James shakes his head and gets out his own knife. At least he knows where it’s been.

* * *

He and Moneypenny keep moving. She walks confidently, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. He keeps glancing sideways at her, looking for tells. He’s pretty sure she’s noticed, but she doesn’t comment.

‘Quantum wants you dead because you’re the least likely person in the whole place to look the other way. Tanner’s sending someone after you, the Winter Soldier, I don’t –’

 _What?_ He stops dead in the middle of the pavement. ‘No _fucking_ way.’

‘What?’ Moneypenny turns to stare at him. He drags her out of the way of the foot traffic.

‘The Winter Soldier’s a – well, not a myth, but I didn’t think he was real. They say he’s the best assassin in the world. Hardly anyone’s seen him and the ones who have said he has a _metal arm_. Are you sure?’

‘I heard some scientist asking Tanner’s permission to send him after you.’ She still looks confused. ‘Tanner was worried about performance issues.’

James fells a grim expression settle on his face. ‘If the Winter Soldier wants to kill someone, he does.’

‘What, that’s it?’

James paces away from her, trying to think. Quantum is in control of MI6, and the Winter Soldier is on their tail. Even MI6 agents who aren’t involved with Quantum will be working against them.

And what do hope do they have? Two angry people who don’t know who to trust, a gun each, and no way of knowing what’s happening.

‘How many do they have?’

‘What?’

‘How MI6 agents are Quantum?’

She shakes her head. ‘Too many. I don’t know. It looks like almost all of the analysts. A lot of field agents. They were all walking the corridors with their guns out. Half of Q’s favourite hackers were working on something for Tanner.’

Q. ‘Where is Q?’

She hesitates, bites her lip. ‘I don’t know. He’s not answering his phone.’

Oh, _God_. ‘He wasn’t in Q Branch this morning.’ _This is why you don’t get attached, James. You’re compromised._

Moneypenny swallows. ‘Shit.’

James leans back against the wall. ‘He wouldn’t work with them.’ Why is he so certain?

Moneypenny nods. ‘He doesn’t believe in benefiting from other people’s hardships. Or at least, not on Quantum’s level.’

‘Then they’ll kill him. He’s smart, he’ll work out what’s going on and then they’ll kill him.’ James rocks to his feet. They can’t leave Q to fend for himself against armed Quantum agents. He’s good, but not that good.

* * *

It’s a good thing Moneypenny knows where Q lives. James crouches on the fire escape, one of Moneypenny’s hairpins in his hand. She peers carefully through the window, then gives the all clear signal. He picks the lock (alarmingly simple, for someone as security conscious as Q) and the window opens without a sound.

Q’s flat is just like his office: neat as a pin. It smells like pine and coffee. Q only drinks coffee when he has to stay up overnight.

The flat seems to only be three rooms – a big kitchen/living area, bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen looks empty from James’s position, but there’s someone in the bedroom.

Unbidden Moneypenny raises her gun, and James copies her, moving silently towards the bedroom door. He can’t hear Q, but surely –

Q appears suddenly in the doorway, sees the guns, yelps and nearly drops the laptop he’s carrying. ‘Jesus Christ! What are you doing here?’

 _Oh thank God._ James has to stop himself from reacting – now isn’t the time for overt displays of emotion.

Moneypenny drops her gun arm with a sigh of relief. ‘We were looking for you, we thought… you weren’t at HQ and it’s all gone to hell. You see how it looks.’

‘Like something’s happened to me.’ Q puts the laptop down. Now that he’s got over the shock, he’s remarkably calm. ‘You know they’re telling everyone you killed M,’ he says to James.

‘And you don’t believe them?’

Q snorts. ‘Do I look like an idiot to you?’ James grins without meaning to, and Q shakes him head. ‘What’s happening? I smelled a rat, but I got out before anything happened.’

James tucks his gun away. ‘Is the flat secure?’ Q scoffs, so James assumes the answer is yes. ‘003 and 008 are dead. Tanner sent them after me.’

‘Oh.’ There’s a moment of silence. ‘Tanner… It’s Quantum, isn’t it?’

Moneypenny nods, and Q sinks down onto the sofa. ‘Shit.’

Moneypenny follows him, says, ‘Him and half of HQ, or at least that’s what it looks like. Tanner wants to get rid of Bond –’ ‘For obvious reasons,’ breaks in James, and Q nods ‘– so the Winter Soldier’s out there somewhere looking –’

‘Wait, who?’

James sometimes forgets Q was never a field agent. ‘An assassin. They say that he’s the best in the world, that he’s a _ghost_. We call him the Winter Soldier, he’s Quantum’s best weapon, and he killed M.’

‘What do you mean, killed M?’

They both stare at the Quartermaster. ‘Q,’ says Moneypenny slowly, ‘you were looking at Bond’s security, what are you –’ Q’s astounded expression stops her.

‘Oh my God, did you honestly think he was dead?’ Q leaps to his feet, staring. ‘Didn’t either of you think to _check?’_

Check? He’d been pronounced dead, they’d both been there –

But none of them had seen the body.

It must hit him and Moneypenny at the same time, because they swear simultaneously and round on Q. They need proof, they need information…

Q opens his laptop. ‘I wanted to see what had happened. For… closure, if nothing else. But I saw… this:’ he spins the computer around. Footage from the hospital security cameras fills the screen. In one corner are he, Moneypenny, Tanner and Contos; in another, and empty corridor. The third shows an ambulance in an empty alley. The rest of the screen shows doctors scurrying around M’s body. James had counted five attempts to restart M’s heart, and he counts them again now. One, two, three, four…

And after the fourth attempt, M’s body is rolled out of the room, down the corridor and out to the waiting ambulance.

A chill runs down James’s spine. Who ordered this? Tanner? Where did they take him?

Moneypenny breaks the silence. ‘Does Tanner know?’ She sounds furious.

‘I don’t think so. I couldn’t track the ambulance, but what would be the point of keeping him alive, but hidden?’

‘We have to find him.’ They both turn to look at James. ‘Wherever M is, we have allies. We can’t take down Quantum with two pea shooters and a laptop.’

‘Don’t forget the Winter Soldier,’ reminds Moneypenny, ‘we have to deal with him first, or we’ll lead Quantum straight to M’s doorstep.’

Q straightens, looks James straight in the eye. ‘I want to help.’

He can’t let him. Q is smart, and, sure, he’d probably be extremely helpful, but James isn’t going to let him get killed. ‘Q, you should lie low, you’ve never been trained for the field.’

Q glares at him. ‘So sticking with you two should be safer than being on my own, shouldn’t it?’ He folds his arms and gives Moneypenny a look that probably means _help me out here_. ‘I can help with Quantum, Bond, you know that. Anyway, if you’re fighting an crazy assassin as well, you’re going to need me.’

‘How exactly can you help fight _him?’_

A slow grin creeps over Q’s face, and behind James, Moneypenny lets out a startled ‘oh.’ James is starting to feel decidedly out of the loop.

‘Yeah, _oh,_ ’ says Q. ‘Should I show him?’

‘Show me what?’

‘The best thing I’ve ever made.’ Q bends over the laptop again. ‘Technically, they’re a prototype, but I’ve tested them a few times and I know they’re good.’

‘What’s _they,_ exactly?’

Q steps back with a flourish. ‘These,’ he says proudly, and James stares.

Blueprints. Blueprints of…

Q has built _wings_. Honest to God wings. Holy _shit_.

Q is saying ‘they told me to hand them over to the Air Force. Like _that_ was going to happen. So I shut the project down.’

Moneypenny frowns over James’s shoulder. ‘Does anyone know you kept them?’

‘No. MI6 doesn’t have _all_ of my secrets.’

Finally James gets his mouth working again. He rounds on Moneypenny, who jumps back. ‘You said he was afraid of flying!’

‘Only when someone else is on the controls.’ Q hold up his hand, a pacifying gesture. ‘I’ve flown Harrier jets, Bond,’ he elaborates, ‘so I know _every single thing_ that can go wrong.’

James stares at him. Harrier jets? _Q?_ He realises what he’s doing, and goes back to looking at the blueprints. ‘Are they weaponised?’

‘ _Everything_ is weaponised,’ says Q without a lick of sarcasm.

* * *

Q’s worst fear was that they would leave him behind, but the wings seem to have solved that problem. He even gets a certain vindictive pleasure out of James’s reaction: 007 is usually so hard to rattle.

While Q gets changed into clothes more suitable for flying, James and Eve stay in the living room discussing this Winter Soldier in hushed voices. Q’s never heard of him before: he sounds like a cold war myth, not a real threat. But then, any threat to his life that James Bond actually takes seriously is not to be trifled with.

He’s a little worried about the wings. Sure, they’re weaponised, but he’s only flown while firing the guns once, and that was in testing. He’s never been in a real firefight.

As he comes out of the bedroom James is saying, ‘it doesn’t really matter how much of MI6 is Quantum. If Tanner can convince everyone else to do what he says, he’s got the whole place to himself.’

‘But if the rest of MI6 knew…’

‘And how are we supposed to tell them? We can’t just hack the PA system and announce it to the world, all that’ll do is get some good people killed.’

‘So now what,’ asks Q, sitting down between them. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it: what do they do with what they know? It’s all very well to say they’ll find and stop this Winter Soldier, but without HQ’s resources behind them, their options are extremely limited. And how do you catch someone who is apparently a ghost, whatever that means?

‘We should get your wings,’ says James finally. ‘We haven’t got much firepower, and we’re going to need it.’

‘Well, we can change that,’ offers Q. ‘I’ve go a stockpile in the same place I keep the wings. After Silva, I thought… you never know when you might need ammunition off the record.’ James is staring again. ‘I’m a little paranoid,’ he offers.

‘Aren’t we all, Q,’ James mutters as he gets up. ‘Aren’t we all.’

* * *

Q drives them. Q drives them in his fucking Honda Civic, of all things, but at least it’s better than walking.

‘So,’ he says, taking a sharp left, ‘what do we actually know about this Winter Soldier? Besides the metal arm and the ability to murder people.’

James frowns, trying to remember. Somewhere in the depths of MI6 there’s a file marked _The Winter Soldier_ and filled with things the old M would have called ghost stories: rumours, unconfirmed sightings, mysterious deaths. ‘We shut down a Quantum research facility, a few years back now, full of scientists trying to make a superhuman. They were doing human testing. I saw some of it, it was fucked up.’ The pictures he saw still crop up in his nightmares every now and then.

‘What were they trying to do?’ asks Moneypenny as they overtake a police car while doing their best to look as innocent as possible.

‘They were _trying_ to increased stamina, speed, strength and mental capabilities. To make the perfect soldier, just in case they ever needed an actual army. It… it didn’t work. The stuff acted differently on everyone, even identical twins. It sent some of them mad, caused deformities, killed most of the test subjects.’ He remembers one result in particular, where they thought the subject was unconscious and sent a doctor in to do some tests. The subject skinned her alive. ‘We knew it had worked on at least on person though, but we could never work out who. The rumour went around that Quantum was using him as an assassin. I suppose that’s where it all started.’

They stop at some traffic lights with a jolt. ‘Rumours,’ mutters Q, ‘sounds like field agent rubbish.’

‘Ulyanovsk? November 2009? Him. That American Chinook that was shot down in 2011? Felix Leiter told me the CIA never thought that was the Taliban.’

A moment of silence. ‘Oh.’

‘You see why I’m taking this seriously.’

‘Yeah.’

* * *

Q unlocks the storage unit with an ordinary key, but when he rolls up the door there’s another door behind it. Q presses his palm to a biometric reader to open that one.

The storage unit is set up just like the gun room in a safe house. Cupboards and draws line the walls. James opens a few of them: guns, grenades, knives… everything is here. Moneypenny is examining a shelf full of what seems to be poisons.

‘Q, when you said you were paranoid, I didn’t think you were actually this mental.’ There’s enough in here to supply a small army. God knows how long it would last Q if he were the only one using it all.

‘And you keep an unregistered pistol in your safe even though you could have a legal gun if you asked for it,’ shoots back Q from a draw full of cash, which he’s emptying.  ‘Pot, kettle.’

James supposes there’s no point asking Q how he knows that, because Q will only say something like _I have my ways_. Instead, he arms himself, collecting as many guns and knives as he can carry and filling his pockets with bullets and Q’s marble-sized grenades. Moneypenny does the same, although he notices she takes only one knife. Obviously not a specialty of hers. Q takes fewer weapons, but he fills a case with several hard drives and two laptops. James remembers _I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop than you can do in a year in the field_ and suppresses a smile. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to witness that now. Well, maybe not the thing with pajamas, but the rest, definitely. This is war, after all.

‘So,’ he says, when they’re all armed, ‘where are these wings?’

Q opens another of the cupboards. On a mannequin hangs what looks like a glorified backpack. Made of metal.

‘What, is that it?’ It looked a lot bigger in the blueprints. Q rolls his eyes.

‘You won’t be saying that when I get into the air.’ He shrugs the wings onto his shoulders, and James understands suddenly why he put on that leather jacket. He tries not to think about how heavy the rig must be. ‘Right then,’ says Q, ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’

* * *

Moneypenny drives this time, so Q can put in his contacts (‘do I look like I want to be flying around with my glasses on?’) and see if he can get through his own firewalls to find out anything about where the Winter Soldier might be. He’s now tapping away on a laptop that looks like he built it himself, oblivious to Moneypenny’s horrendous driving skills.

‘Ah. Here we go. There’s – oh shit, would you look at that.’

‘Q, I’m _driving_.’

‘Right, sorry. Urgent memo sent out an hour ago: says “agents 007, Q and Moneypenny have gone rogue and are believed to be involved in M’s death. Imminent level ten threat, MI6 on war footing until further notice.” God, that’s fucking terrifying. And – oooh, that might be useful.’

James twisted in his seat. ‘What have you got?’

‘Melaina Contos is just about to leave a briefing with MI5.’

* * *

Eve watches Contos leave Thames House from the back seat of the MI6 car she arrived in. The driver is unconscious in the freezer room of a nearby shop and Bond is sitting in his place. It’s a dangerous position to be in – they’ll only have the advantage of surprise over Contos’s security, and surprise doesn’t last long.

Thankfully, their luck holds. The door opens and Contos gets in without checking who else is there – she was never a field agent, and it shows. Bond slams the car into gear and they roar off. Speed is key – it won’t be long before MI6 knows exactly where they are.

‘Hey, where are – stop the car! Stop the car! Let me out – mmmf!’ Eve smothers her cries with an old blanket and checks behind them. They don’t _appear_ to be being followed. She shoves her gun into the blanket and Contos freezes.

‘Keep still and don’t make a fuss. We just want to ask you some questions.’ For a minute she thinks the other woman might be about to hyperventilate, but then she quiets down and Eve goes back to checking out the tinted windows. Bond doesn’t say anything as he drives.

* * *

This plan is extremely slap-dash, even by his standards, but James is pretty sure it will work. Contos has a lot of training, but you can’t prepare for everything, and Contos has never been in a real interrogation. It could turn out that she can’t answer their questions, but then she’ll have served another purpose: bringing the Winter Soldier to them.

He drives up to the top of an abandoned multi-storey car park and double-checks his earpiece before getting out of the car. It wouldn’t do to lose touch with Q at the wrong time.

Contos stumbles when Moneypenny shoves her out the door and pulls off the blanket. James sees her swallow when she realises how high up they are.

‘What do you want?’

‘Just to ask a few questions, you heard Moneypenny.’

‘I’m not going to tell you anything.’ She sounds more sure than she looks.

‘Oh well.’ James steps forward and leans into her personal space. Contos jerks backwards and then freezes. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to do this the easy way?’

 _‘I’m in position,’_ whispers Q.

Contos glares at him. ‘What are you going to do, throw me over?’ Her voice grows stronger. ‘You won’t do it. As long as there’s a chance I have information you want, you’ll –’

James shoves her off the side. He can hear her screaming but then it stops abruptly – and there’s a great _whoosh_ as something rises back up to them.

Q looks like a goddamn avenging angel. The wings are huge and, fully spread, magnificent. James swallows.

Contos hits the concrete like a sack of potatoes. She scrambles to her feet with her mouth wide open. Q calls out ‘I won’t catch you next time,’ and she goes even whiter.

‘I – all right what – what do you want –’

Q interrupts, yelling _‘James!’_ Instinctively James throws himself to the ground. He hears Moneypenny shriek as bullets smack into the concrete at their feet. They both roll behind the car and he hears Q firing back at their attacker. _‘Contos is getting away!’_

James swears, but there’s not much he can do without breaking cover. Then Q stops shooting and yells in surprise.

_‘Fuck! It’s the fucking –’_

‘Q!’ Moneypenny rises slowly next to James, her gun up. ‘What are you seeing?’

_‘It’s the Winter Soldier, he’s down on the street –’_

James leaps for the driver’s side door. ‘Q, keep your eyes on him!’ As soon as Moneypenny slams her door shut he throws the car into gear and hurls them down the ramp. By the time they get down to street level, though, Q’s lost sight of their quarry.

James drives in the general direction Q last saw him heading. He can’t see anything suspicious, any sign of unrest. He can’t imagine the Soldier being _that_ inconspicuous, with the metal arm, but Londoners are good at –

The back window shatters.

James yanks the steering wheel and ducks as far as he can while more bullets rake the inside of the car, but there’s nowhere to go. They’re trapped by the traffic, which of course has come to a standstill. He can see a black ( _typical_ ) van ahead offloading armed men. They’re more or less surrounded.

Moneypenny twists in her seat, fires backwards as James tries to work out how to get them out of there without killing all the civilians. He can’t see Q. ‘He’s _walking_ behind us,’ she spits out, ‘what the fuck, that’s a submachine –’

James can smell petrol. _Shit, shit, shit…_

‘Move, _move_ , get out now, fuck –’ he throws himself out of the car and runs, hoping to God Moneypenny is doing the same thing. He loses sight of the Winter Soldier as he takes cover, but hears the rattle of automatic gunfire again as Q soars overhead.

_‘Bond, he’s –’_

A knife swings within an inch of his eyes.

* * *

Eve loses sight of Bond as soon as she gets out of the car. She doesn’t realise what he was going on about until the thing explodes, and curses herself. She’s getting rusty.

Fucking hell, they’re surrounded. There are civilians – shit, _kids_ – running everywhere, and she screams at them to get out of the way – she doesn’t doubt that the Winter Soldier, if not the rest of their pursuers, will fire on the innocent, but _they_ can’t very well go around shooting everyone.

A soon as it’s clear, she starts firing at the Quantum men, taking cover when she can behind the abandoned cars. A bullet scrapes her arm and she grits her teeth, but the wound isn’t deep. There’s maybe ten men, which makes eleven verses three. Q swoops overhead. Make that ten verses three.

Then Eve rounds a corner and nearly walks into a two-man battlefield. 007 has found the Winter Soldier.

She can’t shoot, she might hit Bond. God, that’s a familiar situation. This time, though, there’s no-one in her ear telling her to take the bloody shot, and Q can’t fire either – Bond and the Winter Soldier are moving so fast, their limbs a blur, it would be almost impossible to hit one without injuring the other.

Eve’s seen a lot of hand to hand fighting in her time, but this?

This is terrifying.

This is two men of equal skill trying to kill each other. Two men blocking the other’s every move, stealing each other’s weapons (one if the Winter Soldier’s pistols goes flying and clatters down near her feet), refusing to yield even the tiniest bit, because to yield is to die.

She hears movement behind her and spins, trigger already half pulled. Two targets. Three shots and they’re down. She reloads, ignores the stinging pain in her arm, turns again. Bond is flagging, and the Winter Soldier pushes his advantage, herding Bond back towards the side of a car.

They’ve slowed down, and it might be the only opportunity Eve gets, so she fires. One of her bullets whizzes so close to the Winter Soldier’s face that it scrapes the mask. The Soldier rolls out of her line of fire, the mask clatters to the ground, and she sees Bond’s look of horror as he sees the Winter Soldier’s face for the first time.

_‘Alec?’_

There’s barely a moment of hesitation and then Bond goes flying. The Winter Soldier reaches for his other gun, and Eve takes careful aim before taking another shot. Her bullet hits the metal arm, which seems to spasm. Has she broken it?

Before the Soldier can recover Q swoops down, spraying bullets and giving Eve the chance to drag the unconscious Bond behind the concrete barrier she’d taken cover behind. Bond’s already stirring, muttering in Russian. _‘Eve, get out of here!’_

‘Where’s the Winter Soldier?’

_‘Heading west!’_

Eve peers carefully around for the other Quantum agents. It looks clear, so she lifts Bond over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry – _Christ_ he’s heavy – and makes a run for it.

* * *

Q finds Eve and James in a construction site. Because it’s a weekend, the place is abandoned. Eve has laid James out on the ground. He’s stirring already.

‘You all right?’ There’s blood streaked down her sleeve, and she flinches the arm away when he tries to touch it.

‘Fine.’ _Bullshit_. ‘You?’

‘I’m all right, but I need to check the wings.’

James jerks suddenly and his eyes open. Eve leans over him. ‘Bond. Bond, can you hear me?’ For a moment James just blinks at her, and Q panics – what if he needs to go to hospital, how are they supposed to – but then he sits up, swearing. Eve shushes him. They haven’t attracted any attention yet, but it’d be just their luck if someone reports them for trespassing. ‘What’s your full name?’

‘James Andrew Bond.’ He spits something in Russian, probably another curse. ‘I’m not concussed, Moneypenny.’

Eve sits back on her heels, frowning. Q doesn’t know much about concussions, but James knows who he is and who they are, and doesn’t seem dizzy, or about to throw up. He seems _fine._

‘Where’d he go?’

‘The Winter Soldier? No idea. There’s police crawling everywhere, but if he’s as smart as he seems, he’ll give them the slip – how the hell aren’t you concussed? I’m amazed he didn’t split your skull.’

James’s eyes are flickering around, looking at the street outside. ‘It wasn’t his metal hand.’ He spots the police, slowly working their way down the street towards them. ‘We can’t catch him, we have to find M –’

‘Step ahead of you.’

They all spin around, reaching for their guns – to see Carter, James’s least favourite field agent, leaning casually against the wall they’re half hidden behind. James swears again. ‘What do you want?’

Carter glares at him fleetingly before turning his attention to Q. ‘We need you. We don’t know what they’re planning, but you can find out, you built the system.’

‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself,’ says James, rocking to his feet with his gun in his hand. ‘What does Tanner want?’

‘I just said: no fucking idea.’ Carter pulls out his mobile and calls someone. ‘Yeah, found them. Could you put him on?’ He ignores the gun at his gut and offers Eve the phone. ‘See for yourself.’

She takes it warily. ‘Hello?’ Her mouth drops open. ‘Jesus Christ, sir, give a girl some warning next time.’ A pause. ‘No serious injuries, but we’ve lost the Winter Soldier… no sir.’

‘Who the hell –’ Eve shoves the phone at James, who says ‘what –’ and then swears again. ‘Yessir.’ He hangs up, gives Carter back his phone, puts his gun away. Q stares. Is he fucking _invisible_ here, or something?

‘Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?’

‘It’s M. I hope you’ve got a car,’ Eve says to Carter, ‘because the cops are coming, and Q’s a bit conspicuous at the moment.’

Carter grins. ‘Follow me.’

* * *

Carter’s car turns out to be a battered old Jeep. Moneypenny takes the passenger seat and he and Q sit in the back, Q’s wings at their feet. Carter and Moneypenny are swapping information, Q has his phone out, and James is alone with the ghost in his head.

The ghost of a man who isn’t dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ulyanovsk, November 2009.](http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8359359.stm) [American Chinook, 2011.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_Chinook_shootdown_in_Afghanistan) I mean no disrespect to anyone affected by these events.  
>  Question: How many of you worked out the Winter Soldier was Alec before James did? When was it obvious? (ps: people I told beforehand need not answer *pointed look*)  
> Up next: angst and Matthew Reilly references.


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